


What Strange Things May Be

by Val_Creative



Series: Kinktober/Whumptober/Goretober 2020 [20]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Being Lost, Blood, Blood Drinking, Canon Rewrite, Count Dracula's Castle, Dungeon, Exploration, Frostbite, Gender or Sex Swap, Goretober, Human/Vampire Relationship, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Male Brides of Dracula, Male Homosexuality, Religion, Serious Injuries, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Jonathan Harker accidentally wanders too far in Castle Dracula. There's more waiting for him than shadows.
Relationships: Brides of Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Series: Kinktober/Whumptober/Goretober 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949473
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24
Collections: Kinktober 2020, Whumptober 2020





	What Strange Things May Be

**Author's Note:**

> IDK IF ANYONE HAS TRIED TO DO JONATHAN/M!BRIDES OF DRACULA BUT HERE WE ARE. THIS IS WHAT WE ARE DOING.

*

It is a curious thing.

Jonathan thinks himself better than to entertain idle marches, and yet he cannot cease.

By the glow of a silver antique lantern, Jonathan passes through long corridors aged with darkness and dust. Stairs of a bitter cold, greyed rock. Castle Dracula looms upon a towering precipice overlooking the mountainous forests and ravines.

He has seen not a soul other than himself and the Count since arriving. Trepidation rivers through Jonathan, increasing his drowsiness.

For all of the historic and majestic beauty of this place… aurum glittering upon the table-steads… the fine fabric woven into upholstery and curtains draping the gigantic stone walls covered in frost… there is an _ugliness_ throbbing like a bleeding wound.

He loses himself to the cavernous and spiraling depths, and Jonathan's bare feet trudge against the floor.

There is no exceptional direction to navigate. It is similar to Jonathan cresting upon a great, black sea laden of frigid emptiness. Not an end to face. Threatening to swallow him whole, like a fierce and nightly beast. Jonathan's lantern aids his way.

Numbness overwhelms Jonathan's freezing hands, prickling at him.

It flushes a sinister, gruesome red on Jonathan's cheeks, mottling him, whitening and waxing the tips of his ears. He feels clumsy. His muscles stiffen as Jonathan drifts on. His toes and the soles of his feet blister on the unpaved castle-stone.

How long has he been down in this prison? Days? Months?

_"Herr…"_

Jonathan gazes around as if dreamy-eyed. It is a trio of voices, pleasantly lithe and rich, calling to him.

_"Herr… Herr…"_

A door of immeasurable size broods over him. Carved of blackwood and studded with thick iron nails. Massive stones surrounded it, creating an arch.

It grates open loudly, doing this of its own violation, ratting and clanking the hidden iron bolts.

_"Herr…"_

Within the room, he notices soft, pale moonlight filtering in the diamond panes.

Jonathan must be walking in his slumber.

He must.

Or else, Jonathan cannot comprehend the reason for three young men lurking by a chiffonier, watching him attentively. Noble lips and mouths and teeth flashing pearly.

Their eyes appear crimson and burning sensually in Jonathan's lantern-light.

Two of the men are sharp of bone structure, in their faces and wrists exposed by silken, ivory cuffs, and broad-shouldered. Dark mustaches. They murmur and laugh jovially to the other man, taller and with light sapphire eyes. Fair, womanly curls.

 _"Go on!"_ they urge, gesturing to the fair smiling as if humbled. _"You are first, and we shall follow. Yours is the right to begin."_

Jonathan rubs his eyes. By the time he lowers his cold, numbed fists, the man emerges into Jonathan's sights.

He lifts a glass cup of wine, pouring it into Jonathan's mouth sputtering open. It reminds him of plum brandy. Jonathan gasps, disorientated, as hands materialize around him in sensation, petting Jonathan's hair and his chin.

One of the dark-haired men touches the curve of his bottom.

The fair man playfully nuzzles his mouth, hard and sweet-smelling, to Jonathan's bottom lip.

 _"This one is young and strong,"_ he addresses the other men trailing their fingers over Jonathan's arms and neck in delight.

_"There are kisses for us all."_

He pours more wine, ignoring Jonathan's mouth, coating his throat and licking him clean, suckling and nipping at his skin.

Jonathan realises he forgot the presence of his crucifix. His Savior. Hands shove under Jonathan's trousers, feeling him, reaching for his cock and stroking him to fullness. Jonathan groans out, tilting his head back. His dull-nerved toes curl in.

This is a wicked and hungry _desire_ in Jonathan's breast.

Men do not think to kiss so passionately. So abandoned and willful. Men do not crave another man's seed in their belly.

He succumbs, whining as rows of teeth puncture Jonathan's skin.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober 2020 prompt(s): **Foodplay**  
>  Whumptober 2020 prompt(s): **Lost**  
>  Goretober 2020 prompt(s): **Frostbite**


End file.
